𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴 

𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴 

𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 

𝙰𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚢-𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚢 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚓𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚜

𝙾! 𝚂𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚒𝚛, 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 

𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜; 𝚄𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 

𝙾! 𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚔! 𝚃𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 

𝙰 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚍𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚐, 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚗, 𝙰𝚗𝚍 ,𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚏 , 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚞𝚝-𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚢, 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 : 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗

𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 

𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗,

𝙰 𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢— 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚗, 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚗

𝚃𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢, 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚟𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚙𝚞𝚗

𝚃𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝, 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜, 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜’ 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖 

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚘𝚏, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚞𝚙, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 —𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 —𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚝𝚑?!

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 

𝙰𝚗𝚍, 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏, 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜, 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜, 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜

𝙱𝚞𝚝, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚢, 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗

𝚄𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜, 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚜 , 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗.

𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚐𝚎, 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚜…

𝚃𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝙸 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚗 ….

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚟𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 ‘𝚃𝚒𝚜 𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢: 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍...

𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 —𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑, 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗; 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚢𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 !

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 !

𝙲𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚘, 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚛𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 ,

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢—𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚍𝚞𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗

𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢, 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎 

𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚞𝚙𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚜, 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚃𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎—𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍…

𝙾! 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴 …𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚡 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐

𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 ….

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍, 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚜

𝙾𝚗𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚍 —𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 ‘𝚝𝚠𝚊𝚜 “𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍.”

𝚃𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 ,  𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕,

𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 —𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚙𝚞𝚗

𝚂𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚘 , 𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚗 ; 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 —𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢—𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 —

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚖𝚢 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 ,𝚔𝚒𝚌𝚔- 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚞𝚗 —𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚛𝚞𝚗!

𝚂𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛; 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍

𝙲𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚕𝚢, 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 —𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚜’ 𝚖𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗, 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 as if 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 o𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚟ed 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 to be 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 …

𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑! 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍

𝚆𝚑𝚢—𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚜, 𝙾! 𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚍, 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚆𝙸𝚂𝙴 𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗? 

𝙾𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗’𝚜 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚢— 𝙿𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝙾𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚎 

𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 ? 

𝚈𝚎𝚜,  𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 —𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚎 

𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍; 𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍… 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 ?!

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍; 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎,

𝙾𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍...

𝙸𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚒𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚞𝚙, 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚙, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 —𝚗𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗  

𝚈𝚎𝚜 , 𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗, 𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚕𝚢 𝙱𝙾𝚁𝙽 ....

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚜, 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍

𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 ,𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚛, 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚜 𝚖𝚎 , 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢, 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍!

𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑, 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 —  𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 —𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚗!

© ✍️ 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚑𝚞 𝙶𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚝𝚒 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝟸𝟽𝚝𝚑 , 𝟸0𝟸𝟻

Preceding poem is a choice model of my poetry, to which, I shall add my introspective analysis ( my two cent —point of view)

I undertook the endeavor of scribing poetry to make myself familiar with my own thoughts and also aid the readers to equally fit into its meaning as it occurred to them.

I am of the firm belief that many matters when versed aright, can assist in providing pathways of communication; without losing what is being said as precious leavings. If you notice intently I have abstained from period building —that is, presenting a single idea without full stops. That’s because I felt that the unity of thought required me to use semicolon and colons to piece in what I was thinking.

While composing this poem the object of attention(life) appeared naturally, but it was also suitably written to the clear ideas thus acquired. Obviously, the words and phrases related in such a sense were discharged with what they served to show in effect—“bringing life back to life. “

In this poem words as expressive thoughts have conveyed multifarious ideas and many meanings. Some words analogously paralleled each other in the following words such as : topsy turvey, untenable breaches. They adduced a bondage that developed as a reasoning ,no doubt, for the preservation of why I was looking at “fate,” with such a concern. I used many figures of thought as ornaments to orchestrate and impart special expressions. For example:

O! Look!  

A subdued pang , a dead beat to an impulse, still lingers on 

And ,as of , in cut-throat melancholy, none the worse, to that : I was found!

Herein ☝️ I tried to throw a towel over the hideousness with which many stately administrators could govern their people by creating circumstances wherein the

surest of us all could feel nothing more than nincompoops. One such thing could be the recent political upheavals around the globe that depicts: vehemence of various injustices , peace without securities, and wars without definite Allies.

While reading the poem the reader might feel aroused to what might come next.

To me, naked thoughts when properly dressed becomes poetry.

My poem bestows the requisite rhetoric to make deeper courtesies to the significant thoughts that emerge in my mind.

Muse is meant to be more than a superficial scrimmage over sense and sensibilities. This is the chief reason I preferred to use a free verse—as my poetic form of expression. The marvel of uncommon strikings of imagery (through words,) is,indeed, glorious.

Herein, the prosaic effort lifts itself through its own imagined suffering.

An inflexible mind might reject such a suffused expression as some askewed structure or form.

Meaning can be lost in structure unless the eye speaks to an ear effectively. Also, if the heart insists on putting its own meaning upon first inspections, then the reader may embark upon a dangerous crusade to where words could ring a different tone.

The poem selected as a precept of expression reflects the following:

Cohorts of present participles ( “ing”forms of verbs) are conjoined with other alongside actionable subordinating verbs.

This method may seem to be projecting appalling directness but by no means intends to be unusually absurd.

The poem projects surrealistic nostalgia that may not appeal with a good many readers.

Little pieces build together with phrases and clauses, both buried hand in hand, can seem like stand alone entities, yet such an unmade fashion upends the truest essence of a soulful exposition.

Rhyme and Rhythm: The scheme is proportionate yet it

seems to be moving, up and down all over around, with a sudden impulsiveness ,as though, abruptly holding moldy secrets . That may well be seem like errors renouncing on grave mistakes with meanings suspended from the beginning to the end. In that sense the whole piece could feel enigmatic. The poem stands without glory, possibly at the verge of imagined melancholy. With that said, I have risked every ray of light; in great aims , thoroughly. But, in small, my earnestness reveals an invincible resolution to bear “ awe,” as the most unfaltering practice.

I speak meaningfully to the phrases that reflect some originality. Talk about conjunctions periods commas and colons ….

The melancholic 😞 emotion may not be relatable to the immediate effect of observation…

A Lot of abstraction breaks convention, though. But beyond what’s being portrayed, there’s something else that stands within reach —the unifying theme of the versification…. There’s a positive ending

Soliloquy Synopsis  :

It’s shadowy and allegoric .. somewhat , a more generalized abstraction of life . There is, again , a confession that is very shocking; it’s mainly about the causes of the dubieties that have worked into my life —all along. 

Perhaps , it exhibits the extreme sentiments ,and sketches out a cloudy illusion of events and incidents in a  peculiar kind of way.

Towards the end of the poem, it dashes into a unifying theme of how fate and fortune lead us into a transcendence which is timelessly eternal . Not else where achieved , it bothers and teases the way life probably cheats . 

The poem captures the brooding spirit that courageously seeks hope,

and it also delineates a double attempt to exhibit the contrasting parallels of joys and sorrows, failures and successes which cudgel as elements in shaping life.

In a steady sense, this poem ingenuously  summoned me to dig deep —apparently, upon life’s incidental contexts. 

The description speaks up commandingly without a hitch! 

... And the rest that’s unsaid could be left to those who beseech their own form through this offering. I hope this goes along in giving the reader a sense of connection to follow their own —truth reveals.

In short and at length, throughput, I had depicted life as deceptive and presented material that makes us look like a motley fool while handling deceit.

And the spice of injustice which quite certainly reveals in the end turns out to be quite ironic... as if, echoing—What is alive is seldom truly perfect. And to attain perfection one must dig graves or write epitaphs to understand the good in the good and bad in the bad.

Smooth sweltering velvety experience expressed smoothly

Such scavenging unearths the smooth deficiencies constituting the makings of destinies, and in one sense of the subject —reveals and amounts to this:

Life comes with no warrants of excise and no guarantees of analysis as —it is wholly surprising. It exists in the inter-twists of an extraordinarily different form of amalgam which represents this legit’ premise : 

What’s construed as a cognitive enterprise is actually an adjudication of perspective to life!

All experiences that life bestows upon us as teachings may or may not assist us in achieving it’s full intents.

For Good or for bad , and for better or worse, some instances, seemingly alter the very essence of our presence; of living as a “being,” in itself. 

Signing off as :

A rhymester with an authentic risible view — call me a dallier dilettante or a librettist ! MG